"More, I expect, Jack; your father has been after the traps himself this evening; but here he is, so don't mention them unless he does. Look what Fairy and I have been making for you, Jack. Show him, Fairy," said Mrs. Shelley, who was making a huge hasty pudding over the fire for supper. "Yes, look here, Jack: a beautiful smock, a real smock! Isn't it lovely? John insisted on your wearing one, so we made it for your birthday; but don't look so unhappy, I have got a prettier present for you to-morrow," said Fairy, holding the heavy smock up in her tiny fingers. "But why did you make me such a thing, mother? You might have known I could not possibly wear it," said Jack, flushing angrily, and ignoring Fairy's part in the manufacture of the unwelcome garb. "Not wear it! What do you mean, Jack?" asked the shepherd, as he came in, followed by the other boys. "Here's a joke! we shall have a row now," said Charlie, in an undertone, to Willie, boy-like, rejoicing in the prospect. "I back old Jack to win this time," whispered Willie. "Mean, father? Why, what I say. No power on earth shall induce me to wear a smock frock," said Jack, infusing all the scorn he could muster into the objectionable name of the still more objectionable thing. It was some minutes before the shepherd could take in the full meaning of his son's words. He supposed there was some objection to this smock in particular, for as he wore a smock himself, and his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had done the same before him, it never occurred to him that Jack could object to smocks in general. Shepherds wore smocks; Jack was of course a shepherd because he, John Shelley, was a shepherd, therefore Jack must wear a smock. "What is the matter with this smock? Is it too big, or too small, or what?" he asked, slowly. "I don't know, I am sure, what size it is; I only know it is no use to me." "But if you have not tried it on, how can you possibly tell? Put it on and let's see," said the shepherd, taking the smock from Fairy and handing it to Jack. "I tell you, father, I won't wear a smock; it is bad enough to have to be a shepherd; wear a smock I won't," cried Jack, his eyes flashing dangerously. John Shelley began to understand now; it was pride which was at the bottom of it--pride sprung from all this book-knowledge, which he had always prophesied would lead to no good, and pride which must be trampled upon at once. John had never understood his eldest son, and he could no more enter into the feeling which prompted Jack to shrink from wearing this badge of his lowly calling than he could understand his objection to snaring wheatears. "And I tell you, Jack, I will have no more of this folly. It all comes from the books you are always poring over instead of attending to your work." "When have I ever neglected my work? Summer and winter alike, from five in the morning till sunset, am I following the sheep," interrupted Jack, passionately.